


Crippling Defeat

by storiewriter



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, Gen, Humor, Preston Reincarnation, Something lighthearted, Transcendence AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiewriter/pseuds/storiewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dominik Hohn, violinist prodigy, hears that Alcor's music brought a man to his knees in tears, he decides to take matters into his own hands and prove to the world who's the best violinist to walk the earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crippling Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by another ask on the Transcendence AU! Enjoy something light-hearted.

            When he is fifteen and brimming with youthful arrogance, Dominik Hohn reads in his dusty, completely-irrelevant-to-his-career-as-a-violinist-prodigy Demonology textbook that Alcor the Dreambender has been noted to play a violin incredibly well himself. Dominik Hohn then spends the next few weeks brooding over this fact; what if Alcor the Dreambender could play even better than himself?  He certainly had over a thousand years to practice any kind of violin, from the traditional to the more unsophisticated technolins.

            In fact, Dominik Hohn realized as he listened to his tutor drone on about the ill-fated colonies of Mars, it was probable that Alcor the Dreambender might be better than Dominik Hohn. The only thing that had stopped the masses from realizing this was the fact that Alcor the Dreambender was not known for his violin-playing skills. That suited Dominik Hohn, currently hailed as the greatest violinist to ever walk the earth, just fine. He put it out of mind and began daydreaming about performing a classic Beatles tune in front of the Monarch of England.

            He had forgotten all about it until the next day, when the stupid demon had decided that several cultists in England needed to dance their feet off in the middle of a Raid. Word had gotten to the media, and the media, of course, began to speculate about it. Apparently it had been such great music that one of the officers had fallen to his knees, crying.

Dominik Hohn had never had a guard fall to their knees in tears. That, he decided, was unacceptable.

            Which led to why he was standing outside an immaculately drawn circle in the middle of an unused basement room, candlelight flickering in a nonexistent breeze and a demon floating before him.

            “Wait,” the demon said—it appeared male, and was always referred to as male, but that would be too humane for a being of its chaotic nature—without the reverb displayed upon his entrance. “Let me get this straight. You want me to purposefully lose a musical duel to you in public in exchange for your second-best Stradivarius.”

            “To be precise,” Dominik said, gloved hands held behind his back, “I want you to engage in a musical duel with myself this coming Friday at the Gewandhaus. It will be held at 18:00 hours; I have a solo violin concert then. When I am approximately part-way through my third piece, you will come in and challenge myself to a duel, presenting the façade that you believe yourself a better violinist than I. Then I will play my crowning composition, and upon my completion of this piece, you will present your own using the violin; a classic, preferably, but not nearly as great as my original. In exchange, I will present to you my beloved Stradivarius, which is to my right and safely placed in its case. Is this a fair exchange, Dreambender?”

            The demon stared down at him for a moment, hand inelegantly propping its head up by the cheek. Finally, the demon huffed. “Should have known a Preston would do this. All right, kid, you’ve got a deal.”

            As blue fire danced over his hand, Dominik Hohn smiled. His legacy as the greatest violinist to grace the Earth with his presence would be cemented in place.

* * *

 

            Things were going smoothly, he thought as he ended a classic piece, created initially for a string of nine movies but having erupted into a global phenomenon. John Williams was truly a great composer. Dominik Hohn smiled to a young, well-dressed child in the front row as he rested his bow arm, sweat beginning to form along the lines of his palms.

            _You are great_ , Dominik told himself. And he was. He was, in fact, the greatest—the seats in the Gewandhaus (the tenth of its name) had been filled to capacity by people in glittering dress and slim-fitting suits. In fact, he had been told that an entourage of England were in one of the wings; while the Monarch was not there themselves, their niece was. This was his key to a private audience. This was his key to global greatness, to dukedom, to riches beyond even his parent’s. He would be freer than any on the planet, liberated by currency.

            He took a deep breath, and then started in on the next song—one of the greatest of all time, called _Hei Jude_ in his native tongue.

            This song was so easy to get lost in—Dominik found himself wanting to hum along, to piece together the ancient lyrics and create a greater music out of it. Perhaps he would approach another prodigious singer after this concert; he had no doubt that he and Natasha Mihailov would bring the world to its knees together. He was daydreaming deep enough that when there was a tearing in the air and a collective gasp from the crowd, he was legitimately surprised.

            Dominik’s eyes flew open. How _dare_ somebody interrupt his concert! His! Dominik Hohn, great musician and heir to the Hohn Family Legacy. He turned, face blank but seething in righteous fury, ready to lambast the idiot who thought themselves good enough to stand on the same stage as _he_.

            “How _cute_ ,” Alcor the Dreambender said, leaning back against some invisible pillar in the middle of the stage. Its shoes were not touching the floor, and it was wearing a red shoestring tie instead of its usual black. In fact, its dress shirt was also black, and its vest was red—its suit, oddly enough, was an almost blinding white under the spotlights. Although his eyes watered at the glare, Dominik did not squint. “You think you’re good, huh? You’re nothing compared to my centuries of experience. Yawn.”

            Dominik pointed his bow at the demon. “You fiend! Leave these innocent citizens alone!”

            “And how would you stop me?” Alcor looked him up and down, golden pupils taking in his custom-fitted suit and undoubtedly in awe of his sleek hairstyle. It scoffed. “With your violin? Please, you’re not anything _near_ my level.”

            He nestled his violin more securely under his chin and lifted his bow in a position at the ready. He had prepared this piece for months on end, throwing drafts upon drafts away in their failure to meet his goals. “Are you certain, demon?”

            Alcor grinned. “Always.”

            “Then I shall begin—‘off the cuff,’ as it were.” Dominik slowly pulled in a breath, listened to the murmurs slowing to a halt from the audience, and then started the jewel of his compositions.

            It was light, slow and airy at the beginning. Ease the audience into it, he thought, eyes half-lidded and engrossed in his music. Nerves would have danced in his stomach, would have arrested his fingers and caused him to fumble were he a lesser man. _I am great_ , he told himself, because he was.

            He built up into a great crescendo, and then brought it crashing down in a flurry of noise, building off the anxiety of his younger years and the countless nights spent practicing and practicing until his fingers bled and his parents looked on in apathy. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the bow in seemingly jerky motions. _I am great. I am great_.

            The music swelled from the high-pitched cries of his youth to a more streamlined, hopeful drag, pulling back and forth, dipping down and crooning sweet victory to the audience. He thought of awards won and accolades given, of parental pleasure and his first Stravidarius, won through tears and sweat and blood and playing it all off as divine inspiration because it was, _it was_ , he was gifted by the Gods and _he was great_.

            It was from a haze of music and memory that he made his final stroke, heavy and long and heartfelt. He opened his eyes to a stunned audience.

            They did not fall to their knees in tears, but they rose to their feet in celebration. Dominik thought, in that moment, that it might just be enough. He breathed again, and it was as though he had stopped; his lungs burned, and it hurt so much but the fierce, great joy in his veins drowned it out. Looking over at Alcor, he smiled in such a way that it was more like baring his teeth.

            “And you, Dreambender? Can you best such a thing?”

            The demon had looked slightly taken aback, but the devilish gleam returned to its eyes. It smiled as well, teeth sharp and dangerous, and reached out in thin air. It pulled out its own instrument—nothing special, as far as Dominik could tell, other than the fact it was probably created around the time of the Transcendence.

            “Prepare to be bested,” Alcor purred, voice somehow echoing out and filling the oddly empty air. It readied its bow arm, straightened its back, and Dominik found himself holding his breath.

            Then Alcor put the bow to the strings of the violin and the noise that came out could only be described as ear-grating.

            Between his flinching, Dominik could recognize it as a very old folk-song. He thought it might be called ‘Twinkle Star’ or some childish nonsense like that; he’d never played it himself, but plenty of other children at his recitals had.

            Alcor finished quickly with an awful drag on his violin. This time, the audience sat in stunned silence of the disbelieving kind.

            “I—” Dominik spluttered. This—this hadn’t been in the deal! “I demand a rematch! That wasn’t even close to your skill, was it?”

            “Aaaah,” Alcor said, monotone. “Nooo. You have bested me. Me, a demon millennia older than yourself. How tragic. How embarrassing. I cry in shame.” Its eyes remained completely dry, but Dominik was close enough to see the awful, devilish glint in them.

            “What…” Dominik said, then shut his mouth. He knew better than to reveal the fact he’d made a deal with a demon.

            There was a giggle from the audience, and Dominik whirled around to see that little girl stuffing her pudgy hands in front of her mouth. Her male guardian, whose blonde bangs covered one eye, was similarly trying to repress his humor. Dominik _seethed_ , but could do nothing.

            “Now, having…dammit, where’s the script,” Alcor muttered at a volume just a bit too loud for a legitimate mutter, and patted down its clothing. It finally reached one bare hand into its sleeves, and a stack of thin cards fell out. It bent down to retrieve them, dropping one after the other. Dominik’s face burned.

            Alcor cleared its throat and continued in that mocking monotone, burning cards as it went. “Ahem. Now, having suffered such a…such a…this handwriting is awful…Slnameful? Oh! Shameful! Ah, suffered a shameful defeat at the haaaands? Hands of-the-likes-of-youuuu I must flee to my Dee-monic…um, Realm. My Demonic Realm, the Drea—the Dreams Cape!”

            The moment he finished, a bright blue tablecloth covered in glitter and misshapen paper cutout-stars appeared over Alcor’s head. The horrific affront to artists everywhere drifted down much slower than something affected by normal gravity to drape itself over the demon. It stayed there a full five seconds as the tablecloth finished draping itself down over the demon’s form, then it began to sidle sideways. “Such crippling defeaaaaat,” it droned as it disappeared off-stage.

            In the audience, there was awful, raucous laughter, and it multiplied by the second. Dominik became abruptly aware of his gaping jaw and his hunched form, and wondered how the hell he was supposed to recover from that kind of tomfoolery.


End file.
